And I don't have any funny stories about it either, unless you count the nurse shrieking as my blood spurted across the room when she put in the IV. Apparently I can't even get an IV without being dramatic.
So why was I spending my Friday night in the ER? Well, if you've been following my ongoing saga, you know that my HR has been climbing; my cardio just diagnosed low hemaglobin and dehydration.
You'll also remember that exactly one week ago they drained a quart of fluid from my thorasic cavity.
Guess what? It's baaa-aaack! And it brought some little aquatic friends.
For the past few days I've been getting extremely short of breath, and the pain in my back has been getting worse. Then today when I was on the phone with my husband (panting away) I also had a bout of double vision, which has nothing to do with anything cardic (it's a migraine prodrome) but my husband decided, "You should go to the ER!" So he called... my Dad. Not because my Dad could do anything from across the country, but because he knew my Dad would tell me to go to the ER, which he did. And I'm like, I'm NOT going to the ER. I'm going to see my doctor on Monday! So I called my doctor and he said.... to go to the ER.
And it's a good thing I went to the ER, because doing rounds was a great cardio with a gaggle of residents in tow. He would ask a question, and I would think he was asking me, and I had to stop myself from answering because they had to figure it out for themselves. Everyone had to listen to my heart and figure out what was wrong, and they had to figure out if they thought I had Marfan's, and why I have tachycardia (high HR).
Okay, so you wanna know WHY I have tachycardia? Not anemia. (Okay, somewhat.) Not dehydration -- only, although my surgeon's dehydration plan is no more popular with this cardio than the one I saw on Tuesday. No, my heart is racing away because -- it's being squeezed by orange peel!!!
Okay, not literally. That was his visual. Imagine your heart surrounded by orange peel, squeezing it so that it has a hard time expanding and beating properly. So it just beats MORE. What an industrious heart! Which also makes the patient short of breath. Although not as short of breath as does....
The two quartz of fluid I have squeezing my right lung! (Remember when that was ONE quart, and they harpooned me for it?)
So what do you do about the orange peel (not it's real name)? You take lots of steroids, and hope that it goes away, because if it doesn't, you remove it. With knives. But those aren't the only sharp things in the OR. No, they are accompanied by the giant sternum saw AUUGUGUGUGUGUGHGHGHGHGH!!!!!!!
So these steroids had BETTER work.
The steroids are cool, by the way. They always make me feel super-good. And they are NOT the kind that are banned in Olympic competition, so maybe it's not too late to join the equestrian team. The US is actually doing very well in stadium jumping, but this morning someone from New Zealand had seventy-two faults, so I'm sure they'll want some help. I have the qualifications of a.) not being on banned steroids, b.) speaking English and c.) not being the person who earned seventy-two faults. I think I have a good chance.
So why was I spending my Friday night in the ER? Well, if you've been following my ongoing saga, you know that my HR has been climbing; my cardio just diagnosed low hemaglobin and dehydration.
You'll also remember that exactly one week ago they drained a quart of fluid from my thorasic cavity.
Guess what? It's baaa-aaack! And it brought some little aquatic friends.
For the past few days I've been getting extremely short of breath, and the pain in my back has been getting worse. Then today when I was on the phone with my husband (panting away) I also had a bout of double vision, which has nothing to do with anything cardic (it's a migraine prodrome) but my husband decided, "You should go to the ER!" So he called... my Dad. Not because my Dad could do anything from across the country, but because he knew my Dad would tell me to go to the ER, which he did. And I'm like, I'm NOT going to the ER. I'm going to see my doctor on Monday! So I called my doctor and he said.... to go to the ER.
And it's a good thing I went to the ER, because doing rounds was a great cardio with a gaggle of residents in tow. He would ask a question, and I would think he was asking me, and I had to stop myself from answering because they had to figure it out for themselves. Everyone had to listen to my heart and figure out what was wrong, and they had to figure out if they thought I had Marfan's, and why I have tachycardia (high HR).
Okay, so you wanna know WHY I have tachycardia? Not anemia. (Okay, somewhat.) Not dehydration -- only, although my surgeon's dehydration plan is no more popular with this cardio than the one I saw on Tuesday. No, my heart is racing away because -- it's being squeezed by orange peel!!!
Okay, not literally. That was his visual. Imagine your heart surrounded by orange peel, squeezing it so that it has a hard time expanding and beating properly. So it just beats MORE. What an industrious heart! Which also makes the patient short of breath. Although not as short of breath as does....
The two quartz of fluid I have squeezing my right lung! (Remember when that was ONE quart, and they harpooned me for it?)
So what do you do about the orange peel (not it's real name)? You take lots of steroids, and hope that it goes away, because if it doesn't, you remove it. With knives. But those aren't the only sharp things in the OR. No, they are accompanied by the giant sternum saw AUUGUGUGUGUGUGHGHGHGHGH!!!!!!!
So these steroids had BETTER work.
The steroids are cool, by the way. They always make me feel super-good. And they are NOT the kind that are banned in Olympic competition, so maybe it's not too late to join the equestrian team. The US is actually doing very well in stadium jumping, but this morning someone from New Zealand had seventy-two faults, so I'm sure they'll want some help. I have the qualifications of a.) not being on banned steroids, b.) speaking English and c.) not being the person who earned seventy-two faults. I think I have a good chance.